


Epiphany

by ShiTiger



Series: They Walk Among Us [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi, Multiple pairings suggested, Swindle/Blurr suggested
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 12:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiTiger/pseuds/ShiTiger
Summary: If Primus can split himself into 5 mechs, why can’t Unicron?  (AU idea)





	1. The Destructive Fist

**Author's Note:**

> Epiphany: A moment of sudden revelation.
> 
> (a few minor changes have been made to names, the biggest change being Misfire's true name)

_Setting: Lost Light, 24.  After Chromedome and Rewind walk Rung to his rooms to create the matrixes._

* * *

The mech known now as both Rung and Primus grasped their hands, and clasped them together.  “Chromedome, Rewind… you are both so lucky to have found one another.  You need to learn to forgive yourselves, and just be happy.” The lithe orange god turned away from them, opening the door to his rooms. Before he even had a chance to close the door, the mnemosurgeon caught sight of a mech spying on them from a few feet away. 

“What are you doing?” Chromedome asked, his gaze focusing on the newcomer.  He was one of the Scavengers — a mech by the name of Misfire, if he remembered correctly.

“Why are you spying on us?” Rewind demanded, putting his hands on his hips.  “Are you planning to hurt Rung?”

The Decepticon peeking around the corner gave a visible twitch, his red optics darting away from the group.  “I’m not here to hurt Primus, I just…” His servos clenched and unclenched nervously as he stepped forward into the hallway, his hesitant gaze flickering up to focus Rung, who was now facing him.  “You’re going to create matrixes?  Twelve of them?  That’s… that’s really dangerous — even for you,” Misfire stated, his voice strangely concerned.

To Chromedome and Rewind’s surprise, Rung only smiled in response. Striding past the bonded pair, he came to a stop in front of the flier, and rested a servo on his shoulder. “Thank you for your concern.  It means a great deal to me, Miserion,” the psychiatrist said.

“You… you remember me?” the Decepticon asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Yes.  Though, to be honest, there is much I do not yet remember.  But I remember you and your brothers.  And I remember — him,” Rung sighed, shaking his head.

“You can self-heal, so I shouldn’t be worried, but what if… what if you can’t heal from this?  What if it’s too much, even for you?  The others will be — HE will be very upset,” Misfire whispered, which was a very strange thing for a mech as boisterous as him to do. 

“I know.  I’m sure HE would prefer that I just allow events to take their course, but you know I can’t do that.  If I do not help them win this battle, the false Primus will target other planets.  It may even target Cybertron and Earth someday.  HE will simply have to understand that this is necessary,” Rung insisted.  Unexpectedly, he wrapped his skinny arms around the much larger Decepticon, and pulled him into a hug. 

“Are you recording this?” Chromedome questioned his Conjunx Endura.

“Of course, I am.  Primus Rung is hugging a Decepticon,” Rewind answered back, just as amazed as his bonded was.  As they watched, Rung leaned up to whisper something to the flier.  The Decepticon’s crimson optics widened in amazement.

“Are you sure?” the Scavenger asked, as Rung stepped back to smile up at him.

“Yes, Miserion.  I think it’s finally time,” the ancient mech exclaimed, before turning away.  “Now, I have a duty to my people.  I hope we will see each other again soon.” Nodding, the Decepticon turned and fled back the way he came, leaving the three Autobots alone in the hallway.

“What did you ask him to do?” Rewind couldn’t help asking. 

Rung just shook his head.  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.  Not yet.  All will be as it should be… very, very soon.”

***

The battle might have been won, but the danger was not over yet.  Resettling back on the Lost Light, the crew received yet another unexpected set of guests in the form of Lockdown’s ship.  But rather than his usual crew of Decepticons, there appeared to be only two other mechs with him.

“MOVE!” 

Correction, three other mechs.  Lockdown, Swindle, and the third unknown mech parted to reveal a skinny, blue-armored mech that looked so similar to their lost psychiatrist/god that they almost thought he’d self-healed while they weren’t looking.  Red optics glared through the crowd, searching for one flier in particular.

“ **MISERION!** ”

Misfire flinched, his wings lowering nervously.  Glancing around at his crew-mates, and his new friend Swerve, it was clear that he wasn’t looking forward to answering the strange mech’s call.

“Miserion!” the mech called again, his tone as cold as ice. “If you do not come down here, THIS INSTANT, I will have Defunctron send your new friends to an early grave, one by one.”

The flier’s wings shot up, and he quickly dove off the balcony, transforming the moment he hit the open air.  Shooting down, he transformed again, landing a few steps away from the dangerous group.

“You called us here for a reason,” the skinny mech snarled, striding up to the flier.  Raising a servo, he grabbed the Decepticon’s chest-plates, and yanked him down until they were optic to optic. “Where… is… HE?”

A full-bodied shudder when through the flier.  “He’s gone!  There was an evil Primus from another universe, and he had to create twelve matrixes at once, and he said you’d just have to understand that it was necessary for the good of the universe, and…” Misfire rushed to say, only to receive another yank on his armor to shut him up.

“Are you telling me that PRIMUS is dead?” the lithe mech snarled, his crimson optics flashing.

“I think so.  I checked his chambers when they went in to get the matrixes, and he wasn’t there.” Misfire’s head drooped.  “There was just… dust.”

“You have no idea how tempted I am to destroy you right now,” the Rung-lookalike snapped, but he released the flier, and allowed him to take a step back. “But that would not solve the problem.  Besides, you can’t help being as you are.  Adaptus betrayed Primus, so it was only natural that one of you would betray me.”

“But Unicron, I didn’t betray you… I mean, I don’t think I did,” Misfire answered honestly. 

“Stop talking.  If I wanted an intelligent conversation, I would talk to Defunctron.  Fall in line, and do not forget who your master is,” the smaller mech ordered.  As Misfire rushed to stand nervously next to the mech now known as Defunctron, Lockdown stepped forward.

“Do you want us to kill them all?  We may need your help to do so, Lord Unicron,” the heavily-armored mech insisted, his gaze surveying the crowded room. 

“No, Inmutron. Killing them will not bring HIM back.  If he died here, then he will likely return.  I presume his Guiding Hand are all dead, as well,” Unicron stated, clenching his servos behind his back.  He gave off the aura of a dictator surveying his unruly kingdom.

“I personally took care of Mortilus myself, Lord Unicron,” Defunctron answered smoothly. 

“Yes, so you’ve claimed.  Do NOT act without my authority again,” the dark lord growled, his optics focused on the flame-armored mech now striding toward him from the center doorway.  A pace behind the young Prime were Ultra Magnus and Megatron himself. 

“HEY!  Tiny guy that looks like Rung!  You’d better have a good reason for boarding our ship,” Rodimus stated, coming to a stop directly in front of the mech.

“You are one of Primus’ chosen, and yet you allowed him to sacrifice himself for you.  I consider that an unforgivable offense,” the little mech asserted, holding his ground.

“You’re not some kind of religious fanatic, are you?  Rung CHOSE to make the matrixes.  I’m sorry he’s dead, but he was also really, really old,” Rodimus attempted to explain.

“He was as old as I am, and his spark will live on beyond the death of your entire race, as will my own,” the blue mech informed him. 

“Um, Rodimus,” Misfire said, his optics darting to the lithe mech in front of him, then back to the prime.  “This guy is Unicron.  Like, THE Unicron,” the flier stage-whispered. 

“Unicron?  Huh… I thought you’d be taller,” said Rodimus, studying the red-opticed mech before him. 

“Rodimus, please try not to insult the god of destruction,” Megatron groaned, rubbing his helm.

“What does that make all of you, then?” the prime asked, turning his attention to the three mechs, and Misfire, behind the skinny god.

“Just as Primus split himself into the members of the Guiding Hand, Unicron chose to divide himself, as well.  We are the Destructive Fist!” Defunctron exclaimed, gesturing to Lockdown and Swindle.  After a moment of hesitation, he gestured to Misfire, as well.

“Hi, everyone!” Misfire announced, smiling cheerfully.  The other members of the Destructive Fist gave him a deadpan stare.

“Yeah, we don’t really get him either,” Swindle grumbled loudly.

 


	2. Origin Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really dialogue-heavy. Sorry about that.

Swerve’s bar was teeming with mechs and femmes that evening.  Everyone seemed eager to discuss the new arrivals over cubes of high grade.

“I can understand that the other three, but MISFIRE?” Swerve was quick to state, wiping down the bar-top in front of him. 

“Speaking of Misfire,” Fulcrum sighed, even as their magenta-armored teammate stepped through the door.  Raising a servo, he waved him over to the bar, where the Scavengers, and Swerve, were waiting.

“Sorry, I know I’m late.  Unicron wanted to talk to us.  He’s a very demanding mech to follow,” Misfire sighed, plopping down on a barstool next to them.

“Why do you follow him then?” asked Krok.  “And why didn’t you ever mention your connection with any of them?”

“Seems rather suspicious,” Crankcase grumbled, as moody as ever.

“Should I shoot him?” asked Spinster, reaching for his gun.

“Don’t shoot him,” Grimlock insisted, unexpectedly patting Misfire on the shoulder. “He’s clearly on our side.”

“Of course, I’m on your side,” said the jet, rather hurt by the idea that they presumed he had been lying to them the entire time. 

“Then who are you, really? Are you a god, like the skinny orange guy?” Krok demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sort of.  Primus and Unicron are the most god-like of us all, I suppose.  Oooh, I should tell you our **origin story**!” Misfire declared cheerfully.  “A long, long, looooooong time ago, when the universe was new, there was only one being.  Young and lonely, it began talking to itself, and developed 2 separate voices.  One called itself Primus, and the other was Unicron.  This eventually caused the being to separate into two mechs that were always quarreling with each other — seriously, they had their issues.  The one known as Primus was **enamored** with life…”

“That’s a rather big word for you,” Crankcase interrupted.

“Shush!  I’m telling a story.  And yes, I know some big words,” Misfire exclaimed.  “Where was I?  Oh, yes.  So Primus and Unicron eventually went their separate ways, but Primus found a planet, and poured his essence into it to create life.  In doing so, he became 5 separate mechs — who were known as the Guiding Hand.  Many, many, MANY vorns later, Unicron found out.  And, not to be outdone, he proceeded to do the same thing.  And thus, we were born.  And Unicron… the mini Unicron, named us the Destructive Fist.  We were to be the _scourge_ of the Guiding Hand.”

“So… you’re a god,” Grimlock decided, nodding his head.

“Yes… no… I’m not really sure.  Maybe.  I’m pretty sure we CAN die.  I’m just not sure if we’d stay dead forever,” said Misfire, shrugging his shoulders.

“Should I shoot him to find out if he can die, Krok?” asked Spinister, holding his gun at the ready.

“No, Spinister.  He’s still our crew-mate… even if he is the spawn of Unicron,” grumbled their leader.

“So, you guys are like opposites of the Guiding Hand?” Swerve suddenly chimed in, eyeing Misfire curiously.

“Yep,” agreed magenta-armored mech.  “If we were gods, then Lockdown would be the god of modifications, and the opposite of Adaptus.  Swindle used to drive Solomus crazy with how many rules he broke, and how many mechs and femmes he twisted to the dark side of the law, so he’d be the god of liars and cheats.” As an afterthought, Misfire added, “Maybe gambling and shady deals, too.”

“And you’re the opposite of Mortilus, aren’t you?” Fulcrum guessed.

Misfire let out an amused laugh, before bopping him on the nose. “No, sweet chin, you’re thinking of Defunctron.  He was the leader of the DJD, after all.”

“Defunctron is TARN!” numerous voices yelled.  Glancing around, it was clear that every mech and femme in the bar had been listening intently to Misfire’s story. 

“Um, yeah.  I thought it was obvious,” said the flier.  “His voice can literally snuff out a person’s spark.  It wouldn’t work on me, obviously.  And he couldn’t do it to any of the Destructive Fist or the Guiding Hand, but to normal people… yeah, he’s pretty dangerous,” said Misfire, rubbing his neck-plates sheepishly.  “But don’t worry; Primus asked Unicron to be on his BEST behavior, so he likely won’t order my brothers to kill anyone on this ship!”

“We’re all doomed,” Fulcrum groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“So, to sum it up, that makes you the opposite of Epistemus, the god of knowledge?” Swerve broke in, eager to hear the rest of the story.

“Yeah, I guess.  I don’t mind Epi, but he used to get soooo mad when I used my _chaos blast_ against people,” said Misfire, rolling his optics.

“You can’t hit the broadside of a dinobot, but you have a chaos blast?” commented Krok, raising a brow in disbelief.

“It’s not a gun,” Misfire argued. “It’s just… energy.  I gather my unicronian energy into a ball, and aim it at things — mostly people.  The effects are, well, chaotic.  It drives some mechs into hysterics, and others into fits of rage.  I’ve seen people try to claw out their own optics as cosmic rust starts to eat them from the inside.  And, at least one guy shattered into a pile of scraplets, devouring everyone in his path…”

“What the pit, Misfire!” Fulcrum’s mouth gaped open, and the others were staring at their jet in the same shocked silence.

Misfire, at least, had the decency to look uncomfortable.  “Aw, come on, guys.  It was a _really_ long time ago.  I was a totally different person then. 

“Can’t you make it work less… psychotically?” Swerve asked, hunching down a bit behind the bigger Scavengers.

“I can’t control how it affects people,” Misfire huffed, clearly offended.  “At least, I don’t think I can.”

“If you have a chaos blast, why didn’t you use it against the DJD?” Fulcrum demanded, frowning at his friend.

“We were ordered not to reveal ourselves to regular Cybertronians.  And it wouldn’t have worked on Defunctron/Tarn anyway… and he threatened to tell Unicron on me if I did,” the jet grumbled, puffing out his cheek-plates in annoyance.  “Unicron is scary when he’s mad.”

“Rodimus was telling us about how Adaptus betrayed the rest of the Guiding Hand, and fled to a hidden base on Cybertron’s moon.  Then he shot the planet with an electromagnetic pulse that wiped everyone’s memories.  Why didn’t you guys get caught in the blast, too?” Swerve suddenly asked, recalling the co-captain’s story several nights before, after he’d had a few drinks. 

“We were resting on Unicropia at the time,” explained the jet.  “I told you, in my epic story of Unicron and Primus, that they found different planets to rest within.  Primus claimed Cybertron, which was lifeless before that, and Unicron claimed a planet much farther away.  The humans now call it ‘Earth,’ but Unicron hates that name.  Anyway, we didn’t find out about any of that stuff until we returned to Cybertron to fight the Guiding Hand.  And they were nothing more than a legend, by that time,” insisted Misfire, his wings drooping slightly. 

“We did eventually hunt them down, but talking to any one of them was like trying to talk to a brick wall.  Just blank stares of confusion whenever we tried to remind them of who they were.  It wasn’t much fun trying to fight mechs that didn’t even remember their real names anymore, so Unicron ordered us to stay on Cybertron to keep an eye on things, and went back to Unicropia to sleep until Primus finally remembered him again,” concluded the jet.

 “That’s an interesting story, Misfire, but what happens now?” Fulcrum asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“I dunno.  I guess we’re just waiting for the rest of the Guiding Hand to meet us here.  After that, who knows.  Unicron might want us to start fighting them again, and that would be messy.  We should visit Earth again soon, though,” Misfire added, clapping his hands in delight at the thought.  “The last time we went, we didn’t stay long enough for me to _really_ show you a good time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarn: Defunctron (from latin: Defunctio). I love Tarn’s name, as it means both death, execution, and performance. There were a lot of choices, but this was the one that spoke to me most. 
> 
> Yes, Unicron is very vain, so he named the planet after himself.


	3. We Meet... Again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Defunctron’s appearance is based on what he might have looked like when he was Damus (before the Empurata, which led to him using the name ‘Glitch’). And yes, I prefer to think of him as having a purple and metallic black paintjob.

It was the ultimate face off.  The Guiding Hand vs. the Destructive Fist.  A pivotal moment in the history of the universe.  As such, it took place around a table in Swerve’s bar. 

“Mortilus,” Defunctron stated, smirking at crimson-faced mech.

“Defunctron.  Or should I call you, ‘Tarn?’” Mortilus grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.  He glared at the purple-armored mech across from him.

“Either works.  You’re just mad because I finally killed you,” Defunctron stated in amusement.  He tapped his dark fingertips together on the tabletop, his red optics gleaming.

“You killed a LOT of people.  Then you accosted me on my own planet, and murdered me!” Mortilus argued, his azure optics glinting in defiance.

“You saved and protected traitors of the Decepticon cause.  As the leader of the DJD, I had no choice but to ensure you were adequately punished for your transgressions.  I could not have kept my cover otherwise.  To honor your passing, I made sure to grace your corpse with flowers made by your own hand,” insisted the broader mech.  

“Pretty words, for a creature bent on destruction.  They will not sway me back into your berth this time,” huffed the former necrobot, turning his head away to prove his point.

“Only time shall tell,” the unicronian purred, letting his voice linger like a kiss in the air.

Next to Mortilus, Solomus could be seen glaring across the table at Fraudon, who was more widely known as Swindle.  The other mech was leaning back in his chair, smirking nonchalantly.  Resting his elbows on the tabletop, the former Chief Justice leaned forward, his golden gaze focused on his purple-opticed counterpart.  “How many misdemeanors have you acquired since I lost my memory?”

“Tons.  What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” the blocky-framed unicronian chuckled, raising his glass as if to toast the other mech.

“I have no doubt about that,” Solomus sighed, but unexpected amusement tilted the corners of his lips.  Suddenly wary, Swindle’s optics narrowed, his posture becoming more rigid.  “I’ve been hearing… rumors of a bar you’ve been frequenting, Fraudon.  It seems that a certain cybertronian speedster has stumbled his way into your web of lies and deception.

Gritting his dentia, Swindle hefted his glass and swallowed the high grade in one long swig.  Slamming the now-empty container on the table, he paid little attention to the tiny fractures rapidly spiderwebbing through the clear glass.  “Blurr means nothing to me.  He’s just a pretty frame, like any other cybertronian racer.”

“Is that so?  Now I am even more eager to meet him,” Solomus all but purred, thoroughly entertained at having turned the tables on the god of lies and deception.

Surging up from his chair, the unicronian reached forward and grasped his counterpart’s lengthy orange chin to yank him forward.  Leaning in close to the taller mech’s audio, Swindle hissed, “If you, or any of yours, lay so much as a servo on him, I will make sure you remember the agony I can inflict on your mortal species.”

“I thought so.  You do like him,” Solomus confirmed, pulling away to reclaim his seat.  The unicronian across from him sat down in a huff, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared back in sullen silence.

Next to them, two heavily-armored mechs were engaged in a silent contest of wills.  Lockdown was the first to speak.

“Adaptus.”

“Inmutron.”

“You turned against your brothers.  I’m impressed,” Lockdown stated, resting his chin on his servo in amusement.

“It was necessary at the time,” Adaptus insisted, unrepentantly. 

“I’m not arguing with you,” said the Decepticon.  “We finally got a war that I was proud to be a part of.  And the best part is that you, a member of the Guilding Hand, were the catalyst at the beginning of it all.  Are you sure you’re not a unicronian?”

“I am not, nor will I ever be one of Unicron’s _spawn_ ,” the blue-armored mech snapped roughly.

“Sure, sure.  Keep telling yourself that.  But seriously, if you did want to switch sides… I’m sure Miserion wouldn’t be opposed.  He’s practically an Autobot,” Lockdown stated, gesturing to the pair chatting next to them.  Well, Misfire was chatting away, while Epistemus’s single-opticed face couldn’t hide the clear desire to be ANYWHERE else.

* * *

The god of knowledge would have been content to silently observe the interactions between the other members of the Guilding hand, and their opposites, the Destructive Fist, but it was only a matter of time before Miserion opened his mouth.  And the moment he started to speak, Epistemus would be besieged with useless information that would clutter his databanks for cycles after.

“EPI!  You’re looking normal.  You were literally just a head for the longest time.   Nickel was wearing you around her neck for a while there.  That was super weird,” the magenta-armored unicronian said, his words nearly blurring together in his eagerness to speak.

“Hello, Miserion,” Epistemus sighed, his single optic focused on the cheery flier. 

“Actually, I go by the name ‘Misfire’ now.  It’s a funny story; I’ll have to tell it to you sometime.”  The ivory-faced mech drew in a deep breath, nearly squealing in glee. “I can’t wait to catch you up on all the gossip!”

The god of knowledge would have face-palmed if the vulgar act wasn’t so drastically beneath him. “I really don’t need to know…”

“Defunctron tried to kill me… No, wait! I should rewind a bit.  We met this mech named Fulcrum, he’s a real hottie… No, maybe I should go back even more.  You missed a LOT of stuff,” the flier babbled, his wings vibrating in his eagerness.

“Miserion!” Epistemus stated, raising his voice to a level he was unused to using.  “Nothing you tell me is ever particularly important.  At least, not to anyone but yourself.”

The unicronian’s crimson optics widened, and his visibly wilted under his counterpart’s gaze.  “Oh.”

A single, orange servo came to rest on Epistemus’ arm.  “Epistemus, be nice to Misfire,” Primus whispered calmly.  “He missed you.”  

“Fine,” the single-opticed mech grumbled, unable to refuse his elder brother’s request.  Focusing on the saddened flier, he gritted out the words, “Tell me about this… Fulcrum.”  The delight that began to radiate from his prettier counterpart’s face was almost, but not quite, worth the endless drivel he began to spout.  Honestly, if they were alone, Epistemus would have insisted on expending Miserion’s exuberant energy in a more mutually-pleasant way.  Namely putting his lovely mouth to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I added a few more chapters. I have a plan for Fulcrum… and Ratchet, and Tailgate. You’ll have to wait to see what happens next. Also, I can’t be the only one that thinks Adaptus looks like Impactor (and Ironhide). 
> 
> Relationships: Yes, all of the Guiding Hand have ‘been’ with each other, and the same with the Destructive Fist. On occasion, they would share pleasure with their counterparts, as well. They think of themselves as brothers, but not in the human sense of the term. After all, in the beginning, they were one being.


	4. A Not so Secret Secret

“There you are.  I’ve been looking for you, you little camera cutie.”

Rewind flinched back against the wall behind him, staring in trepidation at the flier now looming over him in the middle of the darkened hallway.  He’d been one of the unlucky mechs to overhear the Decepticon bragging about his past unicronian depravities, even **IF** he’d claimed to have a change of heart soon after.  Why had he let Domey return to their habsuite alone? 

“Hey, hey… relax.  I’m not here to hurt you,” Misfire said, reaching out to poke the smaller mech gently. 

“Then why did you stop me?” Rewind asked, his camera shivering in time with his body.

“Actually, I have a favor to ask you,” the unicronian stated, taking a quick glance around to make sure they were alone.  Opening his servo, he held out a data chip.  “I need you to make sure that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, on this ship has a chance to see this. I don’t care how you do it, but do it soon.”

“Um… What is it?” the smaller mech asked, unable to resist taking the chip. 

“Something that will change the future — in a good way.  It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Misfire insisted.  “Cross my spark, and hope to fly!”

“What if I… refuse?” Rewind asked, flinching back again when the larger mech’s crimson optics flashed a sickly green. 

“You won’t.” The deadly light was gone, replaced by a radiant smile.  “By helping me with this _little_ task, I will owe you a favor.  No one would be stupid enough to turn down a favor from a member of the Destructive Fist.”  The flier waved the autobot away with his hand.  “Now go, little mech.  And tell no one of our encounter,” Misfire warned, his voice laced with dark intent.  “Bye!”

Rewind waited until he was out of sight before breaking into a run.  In the depths of his spark, all he longed to do was throw himself into Chromedome’s arms, and bask in his protective embrace.

* * *

“And you know what went wrong?  People like YOU.  The thugs and the sadists and the psychos — people for whom the war was a convenient excuse to inflict pain. Yesterday, my faith in the Decepticons was restored. I met five Scavengers — and they were average and normal and brilliant, and they fought on my behalf when I really, REALLY didn’t deserve it.  And I know you look down on them, but each one of them is worth ten of you. 

So what I’m about to do, I do for them — and for everyone else the D.J.D. has murdered.  This is for everyone who’s ever turned and fled in protest at what the Decepticons have become!” the k-class mech announced, his impressive chin glinting in the sunlight.

“I don’t believe it — you’re running!” the leader of the D.J.D. announced, glaring up at the figure.

“No, Tarn — I’m jumping!”

Gasps of amazement echoed Swerve’s bar as the gathered mechs and femmes watched the little Scavenger leap from the clifftop, plummeting to the ground below. 

“Clear the area!”

KROOM!

“Well, THAT was a letdown.  I thought k-class were supposed to pack more of a punch.”

The film continued, showing the D.J.D. leaving the planet to search for Overlord.  And, to everyone’s delight, the k-class mech survived thanks to the skilled servos of Spinister. 

“I’ve seen that guy.  He’s friends with the unicronian.  You know, the crazy pink one.”

“No way!  He’s on this ship right now?”

“I can’t wait to meet him!”

* * *

Fulcrum hadn’t realized he’d turned down his audio receptors until he was sitting on a stool at the bar, about to sip his energon.  Without much thought, he turned up the volume, and took a swig of his drink.

“This is for everyone who’s ever turned and fled in protest at what the Decepticons have become!”

He immediately spat out the glowing liquid, his optics widening as his own disembodied voice echoed the bar.  “Is that my…?”

“Yep,” answered Misfire, wrapping his arms around the k-class mech’s neck from behind.  Rubbing their cheeks together, the unicronian kissed him loudly, and then plopped down onto the seat next to him. 

 “Who filmed it?  And how did it get in the hands of an Autobot?” Fulcrum asked, his gaze landing on the video being broadcast against the far wall.

“I gave it to him!” Misfire announced cheerfully.  “You’re welcome!”

“But… Why?” Fulcrum whined, his field tingling with embarrassment.

“That is… a secret,” said Misfire mischievously, putting a single finger to his lips.

“You are so unhelpful,” Fulcrum groaned, drowning his confusion in his drink.  The sound of clapping soon caught their attention as the video flickered off.

“Again! Play it again!”

“Noooo,” groaned Fulcrum, burying his face in his hand to avoid catching anyone’s attention. 

“Wow, Fulcrum,” an awestruck voice said, turning their attention to the little blue and white minibot now standing next to them.  “Was that you?”

“Yeaaaah,” the k-class mech admitted.  “You’re Tailgate… right?”

“I am!” the minibot responded, his blue optics lighting up in delight. “You were so brave to stand up to the… what were they called again?” Tailgate glanced up at his horned companion, who was standing firmly next to him with his arms crossed over his impressive chest.

“The DJD,” Cyclonus answered in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, them!” the minibot agreed, extending his servo up toward Fulcrum.

“Um… You want my drink?” the decepticon asked, raising a brow at him.

“No, silly.  I want a handshake.  Cause you’re so coooool!” Tailgate insisted, eagerly shaking the taller mech’s servo the moment it was held down to him.

“Thanks, but I’m not really anything special,” Fulcrum insisted, despite the light flush now crossing his cheeks.

“That’s not true,” Misfire argued.  “You were the coolest that day!  Like a knight in shining… er, dusty armor.”

“I have to agree — You are a hero.  It is clear that you are not a warrior, but that did not stop you from standing up for your companions, and speaking the truth.  I am proud to have met you, Fulcrum,” Cyclonus announced firmly, startling everyone with his impassioned speech.

“It was nothing, really,” Fulcrum whispered, his blush deepening at the attention.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Is that him?”

“Let me buy you a drink!”

“Tell us how it felt to face down the D.J.D.!”

Misfire grinned, eagerly abandoning his spot as the crowd of autobots surged forward, surrounding the techie-turned-k-class.  Golden optics searched for him, but the unicronian just gave a little salute, and made his way out of the bar. 

“I did what you asked.”

Misfire glanced down to see that the camera-mech had followed him into the hallway.  “Yes, it seems that you did.  Don’t forget, I want EVERYONE on this ship to see it — including the high command, and _especially_ Primus!  Do that, and you can ask a favor of me in the future.  As long as it doesn’t involve hurting Fulcrum, or any of my brothers.”

“You didn’t tell me there were limits,” Rewind huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m a unicronian,” the flier said, in lieu of an explanation.  “Now, go forth my tiny minion!  By the time this cycle is through, everyone shall know of my Fulcrum’s heroism!”

Rewind immediately frowned.  “I’m not your tiny minion.”

“Ugh, fine.  My little harbinger of the truth then.  Just go,” Misfire groaned, giving the little mech a firm push down the hall.  Once Rewind was gone, the flier’s happy grin returned.  Doing a little dance of excitement, he nearly skipped down the hall to find the rest of the Scavengers. 

* * *

Fulcrum sleepily pushed in the code for his shared quarters on the Lost Light, nearly falling into the room when the door opened.  A familiar magenta figure was sprawled out on the berths that they had pushed together in the middle of the room. 

“Sweetie! You look exhausted,” Misfire exclaimed, rolling off the berth to put his arms around the k-class mech.  The broad-chinned mech just groaned in response.  “Too many free drinks, huh?”

“Yeah.  I think everyone on this ship wanted to shake my hand,” Fulcrum sighed, flopping back onto the berth to stare hazily at the ceiling.  The flier plopped down next to him, his smile as bright as the sun.

“Is that a Roddy Star?  I’m jealous,” the unicronian said, elbowing his lover in the side. 

“For standing up to the D.J.D.  Did you know that he gave Megatron one for _abandoning his evil ways_?” Fulcrum exclaimed.

“What!  That’s hilarious!” the flier laughed, rolling until he could fling an arm over his teammate’s chest.  Cuddling close, his engines began to purr as the cybertronian embraced him back.

“Do you have ANY idea what you’ve done by spreading that video around?” Fulcrum suddenly stated, his golden optics still focused on the ceiling.

The unicronian propped himself up so he could smile down at Fulcrum.  “Of course, I do.  I’m not an idiot.”

Fulcrum was quick to note that while it was Miserion’s green optics that were now glinting down at him, the mech’s gentle smile was entire Misfire.  How did he manage to meet and fall in love with the craziest unicronian in the galaxy?  “I know you’re not an idiot, Misfire.  Love you,” the techie-in-warrior’s-armor said, kissing his friend on the nose.  As he watched, Misfire’s optics returned to their magenta hue.

“I love you, too,” Misfire whispered, leaning down to move his lips softly against Fulcrum’s.  They’d had a number of kisses during the time they’d been together, but this was most tender.  When they finally parted, the unicronian snuggled back down, waiting for Fulcrum to give into the call of sleep.  Once he was sure that his lover was truly asleep, he slipped out of his embrace to perch on the side of the berth.  “You have no idea how you’ve changed us, Fulcrum.  And because of that, I’m going to make sure you’re never undervalued again.”

Leaning down to place one last kiss on the other mech’s helm, Misfire slipped off the berth.  Letting his unicronian power flow through him, he began to rise into the air, hovering several inches above the ground.  Floating toward the outer wall, he paused to cast his glowing green gaze upon the cybertronian that delighted his spark.  Satisfied that Fulcrum was as safe as could be, he slipped through the wall as if he were made of pure darkness.  If anyone in the nearby rooms had glanced out the window at that exact moment, they would have seen the unicronian floating in space, but they were all resting themselves, and not a single one was aware that he was out there. Which served his purposes just fine.

* * *

In another room, much farther away from the crew suites, two nearly-identical mechs snuggled on the psychiatrist’s berth.  Although, Unicron would deny cuddling with his brother if anyone were to walk in on them. It was during one tender, leisurely kiss that both became aware of the presence hovering in the vastness of space just beyond the outer wall of Rung’s room.

“Miserion,” Unicron grunted aloud, pulling away from his twin.  Getting to his feet, he crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at the wall with a vengeance.

“It’s alright,” Primus insisted, reaching out to pat the unicronian on the shoulder. “Miserion, we know you’re out there. Are you going to come in?”

At the invitation, the other unicronian slipped through the wall, solidifying fully once he was in the room. “I expected something… bigger,” the flier stated, glancing around the rather small suite. 

“I was, and am, a psychiatrist.  I don’t really need anything bigger than this.  It’s perfectly sized for one mech,” Rung insisted, gesturing to the room.

“I could break down a wall and make it bigger.  It’s far too small for the both of us,” Unicron huffed, his frown deepening.

“Oh… well, I suppose I could speak to Ultra Magnus about procuring the empty room next to us.  And, if he allows it, we could see about conjoining the rooms, so that we each have a bit of personal space when we need it,” said the orange mech.

“Always so quick to follow the rules.  You should just go up there and demand that they give you the biggest room on the ship,” Unicron insisted, his green optics flashing with determination. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Rung chuckled weakly, before clearing his throat.  “Misfire, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about your… friend.  It seems that a video has been making its way around the ship. Did you have anything to do with it?”

“Moi?  Do I look like the kind of mech that would…”

Unicron reached out a servo and grasped him by his chest armor.  Yanking the flier forward, he snarled, “Yes.” Before he could say anything more, an orange servo came to rest gently on his shoulder.

“Now, Uni — I’m sure that Miserion is acting with the best of intentions,” Primus whispered, his field expanding to mingle with his twin’s own.  A sense of calm and ease took the edge off the darker mech’s normally volatile emotions.

“Very well.  Then you deal with this,” Unicron grunted, simultaneously releasing his subordinate, and pulling away from his other half.  He sat down roughly on the berth behind them, his green optics flashing with impatience.

“Now then, let us discuss your chosen consort… I presume you mean to take Fulcrum as your consort, do you not?” Primus inquired, a patient smile crossing his features.

“Uh… about that,” Misfire chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I, um… I mean, yeah.  I totally want to be with Fulcrum.  I’d even take him as conjunx endura if I…”

“WHAT?  You would BOND with a MORTAL?” Unicron was on his feet, his dark energy surging around him in sickly shades of green, blue and purple.

“Uni…” Primus warned, his azure optics snapping to his twin.  His own energy rose, a warm and comforting gold, red and blue, to press back gently against the other mech’s own.  The match of wills lasted for only an instant, leaving Unicron snarling, his face twisted in anger, even as his energy pulled back into his spark. 

“I… I know I can’t bond with him.  I want to, but I’m only 1/10th of a spark.  All of us, the Guiding Hand and the Destructive Fist, would have to agree to bond — and that will NEVER happen,” Misfire sighed, his arms wrapping across his chest in a comforting self-hug.

“I understand,” Primus said, laying a comforting hand on the unicronian’s broad shoulders. 

“Good, because I…” Misfire stood up straighter as he pulled back from the more powerful mech, his wings rigid behind his back.  “I have a formal request, Lord Primus.”  Unicron raised an impressively dark brow at him from the berth, clearly skeptical of the flier’s intentions.

“Go on,” Primus urged.

Miserion took in a deep breath, and lowered himself to one knee before Primus — his head bowed in reverence. “When we return to Cybertron, I would ask that you gift Fulcrum with a matrix.  He may be a nervous techie beneath the k-class format, but he’s proven that he is brave, well-intentioned, and more than willing to stand up for what’s right.”  The magenta flier glanced up, taking in Primus’ surprised features.  “And…” Miserion stumbled on, “having only one mech or femme in charge at a time isn’t really a good idea. But having multiple primes, who are able to guide the Cybertronian people, might be?”

Primus opened his mouth, only to close it again.  Gazing down, he considered the unicronian’s suggestions.  “You have… certainly given me quite a lot to think about, Miserion.  I will need some time to reflect on your… proposal.”

Unicron scoffed loudly, drawing their attention to him, even as Misfire got to his feet.  “I don’t care what you decide, as long as Miserion isn’t sharing sparks with a mortal.  Interface with him all you like, but I will KNOW if you cross the line.”

“Of course, Lord Unicron,” Misfire answered quickly, hoping to calm the stronger unicronian’s temper.

“Good.  Now leave us,” the blue-armored mech insisted, waving him toward the door.

“Perhaps it would be best if you took the hallways on your way back, dear.  I’m surprised the security team didn’t notice your little, space-faring, jaunt.  And, rest assured, I will ruminate on your suggestions,” Primus stated, opening the door to let the flier into the hallway.  “Good night, Misfire.”

* * *

Fulcrum shifted into awareness as a familiar body settled behind him on the berth.  Gentle arms wrapped around his middle, pulling him close to the flier’s chest.  “Did you go somewhere?”

“Just for a walk.  Go back to sleep,” Misfire whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lover’s neckplates.  In moments, the cybertronian was recharging once more.  The sound of his sleepy engine, which seemed to purr like an earth feline, soothed the normally-hyperactive unicronian until he, too, was drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unicron’s colors have changed slightly to include green, as well. His powers seem to be green or purple, depending on the universe. Primus is warm colors, and Unicron is cool colors. Also, Unicron’s optics are red when relaxed, but green when emotional/angered.
> 
> Personal headcannon: When the Guiding Hand use their powers, their optics glow gold. When the Destructive Fist use their powers, their optics glow green.

**Author's Note:**

> Primus split himself into 5 mechs, all with names ending in ‘us.’ So all of Unicron’s mechs have names that end with ‘on’ or ‘ron.’ Next chapter, Misfire is going to give us his backstory, and reveal Defunctron’s identity. In the words of Fulcrum, “We’re all doomed.”
> 
> The original names of the members of the Destructive Fist in this AU are as follows:
> 
> Misfire’s original name was to be Confusion (from latin: Confusio. Meaning: chaos, disorder, confusion), but it didn’t feel right to me. So he is now Miserion (Mizer-ee-on) (a play on Misery).
> 
> Swindle: Fraudon (from latin: Fraudo. Meaning: cheat, defraud, swindle)
> 
> Lockdown: Inmutron (from latin: Inmutatio. Meaning: change, modification, substitution) 
> 
> You’ll just have to wait for Defunctron’s big reveal, but cookies to anyone that figured out who he is!


End file.
